


Sanctuary

by lisbethsalamanders



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Prompt Fic, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 10,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6354799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisbethsalamanders/pseuds/lisbethsalamanders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignettes of Carol and Therese's life post-book/movie. Mostly tumblr prompts I thought would be fun to have all in one place. They're posted in the order they were written, hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tipsy Therese

It’s cabernet sauvignon whenever they go out, she’s found her favorite. She normally limits herself to two glasses as she is thin and short and knows that more than that will likely lead to a headache in a few hours time. 

However, this particular evening has called for a third glass. Some acquaintances Carol hadn’t seen in a number of years were in town and insisted upon seeing her for dinner. Yes, of course she could bring a friend, the more the merrier! They had conveniently neglected to mention the single, tall, Brylcreem-ed mannequin they’d invited with them and seated conveniently on Carol’s other side. They’d heard about the divorce, of course, the poor dear. 

Therese smiles politely and tells them all about her raise to Junior Photo Editor and how, yes, being a single girl in Manhattan is quite an adventure, all while not letting the glass of red leave her lips for more than a few moments at a time. She steals a glance at the mannequin, who is flashing pearly whites and, of all the nerve, lighting Carol’s damn cigarette. Her jaw clenches. She’s not the jealous type, but this is quite enough.

She slips one foot out of a shoe. Leaning on her hand, she smiles wide in false interest at the couple in front of her droning on, and crosses her foot over her thigh. Careful to keep her composure while wary of her face likely growing redder by the second, she uses her toes to caress Carol’s skirt up above her garter. Once there, she begins to slide her foot slowly up and down Carol’s bare thigh. Carol coughs into her martini. Therese grins wider. 

It only takes a few moments before Carol apologizes, complaining of an early meeting in the morning, and excuses them both for the night. As they arrive at the car and Carol pulls her in for a searing kiss before rushing them away, Therese vows to order a third glass far more often.


	2. Abby & Therese

It’s a rare occasion when Carol let’s herself get talked into a business trip, but sometimes there’s a Queen Anne mantle clock from 1736 that an elderly heiress in Connecticut won’t let out of her sight and Carol must go for a night to talk some sense into her. Refusing to let Therese get lonely, Abby calls to invite her out for dinner and a few drinks. Initially she declines, as she’s never been alone with Abby for more than a few moments at a time, but caves after Abby insists.

Three hours and four martinis later, Abby is waxing poetic about a college fling with a French exchange student who rolled her R’s and did other fabulous things with her tongue, and Therese has told her the entire Richard saga from beginning to end. It’s the liquid courage, but Therese is finding Abby absolutely delightful and more than a little hilarious. She sees now another reason why Carol has stayed so close with her after all these years: there’s zero judgment in Abby’s eyes no matter what Therese tells her, whether it be about staying with Richard for as long as she did mainly because his mother made her feel so at home, or how she memorized what classes Sister Alicia would teach at school and always show up a little earlier for them than others. Abby smiles and laughs and shares her own stories and sees no need to chastise Therese for anything. Despite herself, she has fun.

Much later than she’d planned, Therese apologizes that she does, in fact, need to work tomorrow. As she tosses a few dollars on the table and gets up to leave, Abby grabs her wrist.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Abby begins, and Therese is startled to see her eyes look misty. “You didn’t know Carol… before. You, well, obviously, didn’t know her before she met you.”

“Yes, that’s generally how things work.” Therese says, cautiously sitting back down.

“What I mean is, you’ll never be able to see how much she came to life when she met you. We loved each other, but in such a different way. She’s my closest friend and I’m not diminishing that, but she never used to smile or laugh like she does now. You’re good for her, kid.” Abby sits back, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, and lets out a bark of a laugh. “Now get outta here, I am not going to be blamed for you calling in sick with an even worse hangover tomorrow.”

Before she leaves, Therese makes a point to give Abby a very long, tight hug.


	3. Bite Me

It’s unnatural for a woman to vocalize, or even truly be aware of, her desires in a carnal sense. She understands the needs of her husband and defers to them, but her focus from the beginning of the act on must be conception, for that is truly where the woman’s pleasure lies. Sex for enjoyment, even purely for love’s sake alone, was something the prodigal son did before he was brought back to the salvation of his father’s home.

Lots of lessons of this ilk had wormed their way into the back of Therese’s psyche since her childhood, and fortunately few had stuck, but speaking aloud her desires absolutely did not come naturally. She could infer, suggest, even playfully tease at them, but to actually say the words in plain English was almost frightening.

And Carol understood her so well, was able to pick up on her nuances and gestures. The smallest change in pitch of a moan could mean “stop” or “more”, and she seemed to intuit the needs of Therese’s body before even she did sometimes.

But there were times, Therese thought one cozy, stormy evening as she lay sprawled on the sofa with Carol’s curves embracing hers and nose and lips painting figure-eights on Therese’s throat, she might need to speak up. They’d been curled like this wonderfully since they’d sprinted through the streets laughing after dinner out, determined to bring warmth back into their chilled bones. And, god, it was lovely and Carol was infinitely tender, but that was just it.

“Carol,” she breathed, gently pulling the head of golden curls back so she could look at her.

“What’s wrong?” Carol’s eyes were dark and Therese felt a spasm where Carol’s hipbone pushed between her thighs. It took effort not to groan.

“You could… um… oh, I’m no good at this.” Carol raised an eyebrow and frowned. No talking down about oneself, right. Spit it out, you’re safe. “You could use your teeth a bit more.”

A wide grin spread across her face like a sunrise and her mouth was against the shell of Therese’s ear, breath hot and rough. “Tell me what you want.”

A whimper escaped her throat before she could stop it. “Bite me. Hard. Leave marks I’ll see in the mirror tomorrow that remind me I’m yours.” A laugh more like a bark resounded, then without missing a beat, Carol obliged.


	4. Why Don't You Move Your Hips for Me, Hm?

The headboard had not been an easy find, but it was perfect. Light wood exquisitely carved with intricate whorls suggesting twirling ribbons. The cream color matched the scheme she’d prepared for the bedroom, along with the Egyptian cotton linens and delicate curtains. Incidentally, it also happened to be a splendid shape to bind Therese’s wrists to with the silk tie of her pink robe.

The tie had fortuitously come loose from the robe as Therese sat, legs crossed around her waist and teeth dragging deliciously along her bottom lip, undressing Carol. She groped for the thing with an apology and the way it looked draped across Therese’s piano fingers and the supple undersides of her wrists lit a light bulb above Carol’s head.

Now Therese lay, eyes hooded and nose pressed against the inside of her arm, as Carol relished the opportunity to worship her. With her tongue she connected the dark freckles on her stomach and breasts like constellations, nuzzled the insides of her knees, ran her fingertips along her soft stomach as it fluttered. This was Therese and no one else, never anyone else, and she longed to overwhelm herself with her. She would pace herself, make this last, not go anywhere between her legs until it became absolutely necessary. And Therese was good, so good at playing along. She kept herself still, back pressed down and feet planted firm against the sheets.

After long, luxurious minutes, Carol finally, finally, allowed one caress of her middle finger up the length of Therese’s cunt. She could’ve moaned at how slick, how swollen she was. She felt the quickest twinge of guilt at how long she’d kept Therese waiting, and came up to nibble her earlobe as she pressed the heel of her palm against her. “Why don’t you move your hips for me, hm?”

“Oh, thank god,” Therese groaned, pressing herself against Carol’s hand roughly, straining the silk at her wrists. Carol couldn’t help but throw her head back in a laugh before making her way back down to waste no time in taking Therese’s clit between her lips and pushing two fingers inside her. There was barely enough time to create a rhythm before Therese was bucking against her, and Carol heard a throaty keen that sounded very much like her name before Therese’s thighs locked around her ears and her muscles pulsed around Carol’s fingers.

In the moments it took for Therese to melt back into the sheets, Carol kissed her way up her body and untied her wrists. They lay together, Carol’s head on Therese’s breasts as she listened to her breathing even again.

“So,” Therese spoke a few moments later. “Is it my turn?”


	5. Summer Saturday Morning

Summer Saturday mornings when the sun burned bright and early send rays of sun across Therese’s eyelids. She’s never been a heavy sleeper. It can be exhausting when everything from car horns to one’s own snoring (to her embarrassment and Carol’s endless amusement) wakes one up. Yet these mornings, when no responsibilities call and the sun filters through the champagne tangles on Carol’s head, are lovely. She can fall back to sleep if she chooses or, more likely, curl in close to her darling and watch the flutter of her eyelids.

This particular morning, Carol’s arm is draped loosely across her and Therese rolls over. Reverently, and careful not to wake her, she takes Carol’s hand and presses the palm against her lips. Beginning with her pinky, she presses a kiss to the pad of each finger, but pauses as she reaches the middle and index. A blush creeping into her cheeks, she flicks the tip of her tongue across them and tastes remnants of herself from the night before. God, what a strange feeling that before would’ve seemed odd and more than a little depraved, but now fills her stomach with warmth and the first pangs of desire. She places the index finger into her mouth and swirls her tongue, suckling.

As she hoped, Carol shifts behind her and presses a sloppy, audible kiss against the base of her neck, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. “It’s _far_ too early for that sort of nonsense.”

“Mm, not when we’ve got the whole day to do nothing,” Therese giggles and flips over to pull the length of their bodies together.

Carol, still fuzzy and fond with sleep, yawns as she presses her nose clumsily into Therese’s cheek. “I never thought I’d find myself with such an early riser. And one’s who’s so,” she slips a hand down to squeeze Therese’s behind. “ _Naughty_ when the sun’s barely risen.”

She knows, absolutely knows, that it takes just a word or a gesture or a well timed wink to completely undo all of Therese’s composure. She pushes Carol onto her back and straddles her hips. Her fingers trace from the gorgeous lines of laughter beside Carol’s eyes to her lips and throat, resting beside her head so she can balance and lean down and press a long, open, lazy kiss to her mouth. “Then let me do the work.”

Therese feels the vibration of Carol’s moan down into her marrow. “You are ridiculous and I adore you.” Shifting her weight, Therese kisses down Carol’s body, paying close attention to her nipples and sensitive undersides of her breasts and leaving nips on her hipbones. She takes her time as she settles between the warmth of Carol’s thighs, spreading her open with her fingers and pressing her mouth against her. There was nothing on earth like feeling Carol’s breathing hitch and quicken, her hands reaching to stroke Therese’s bangs back from her forehead. It wasn’t just the pride of pulling noises from Carol like the ones she pulled from her, it was the warmth of it. The taste and micro movements and knowing that the satisfaction she took from the act was in making Carol feel beautiful and doted on and so deeply loved. Therese reaches with one hand and laces her fingers with Carol’s tightly. She could stay here for hours.

Before long, Carol’s hips are pressing into her harder and the hand on her head grips her hair as Carol arches and let’s out a single echoing moan before collapsing. Therese kisses both her thighs before climbing up, pulling the blanket with her, to cover them both. They nuzzle into each other and both fall quickly back to sleep.


	6. The Origin of the Hat

She doesn’t have much left from her childhood. A few pictures she never looks at, a child’s size golden cross her mother gave her for her first Communion, a raggedy stuffed bear hidden under her bed she never tells anyone that she takes out on bad days.

But the hat is special. Her maternal grandmother was kind, it always perplexed Therese how she could’ve raised a woman who decided after eight years of raising a child that she’d had enough. The half of her that’s Irish comes from that grandmother, Therese credits her mossy eyes and ability to hold liquor from her. Along with the hat, of course. 

It was her sixth birthday gift from grandma, wrapped in the funny papers and tied with a pink bow. Her eyes had crinkled at the edges when Therese pulled out the hat, explaining in her lilting accent that grandma had worn that hat on the boat to New York. It was a lucky hat, made by her own mother, for cold days when you’re especially unsure what tomorrow will bring and you need to make sure your guardian angel can pick you out in a crowd. Therese holds it all the way home, doesn’t let her mother touch it. Keeps it tucked in her drawers until she’s old enough for it to fit her head.


	7. Mommy's Hurt

The brand new air conditioner pumped icy wind into the isolated yet spacious dark room Therese found herself spending the better part of the third Saturday in August enclosed within. August was supposed to be a dead month, she thought, when the world went on vacation. Yet here she was, in her tartan scarf and hat, developing photos for the world news section and praying to be let out before evening.

She stared with concentrated focus at her hands working until her eyes ached to keep them away from the clock. She normally relished the quiet hours spent in this room, but not on the third Saturday. Those were the only ones with Rindy. One singular afternoon a month. It wasn’t enough, would never be enough, but for the moment it would have to do. She’d only had a few months so far to get to know the little girl, but they were taking to one another like gangbusters and missing a day in Central Park with she and Carol made Therese’s heart and head ache.

“Belivet!” The head of Audrey, a receptionist in her department, poked its way into the room. “Your phone was ringing just now.”

“Did you grab it?” Therese could see her breath as she spoke.

“Yeah, some nurse at Lenox Hill. Said you were the emergency contact for a Mrs. Aird, that you should probably head up there.”

Every single muscle in Therese’s body seized at the same moment. Her feet carried her at a sprint into the hallway and to the stairs, leaving Audrey yelling something inconsequential behind her. Her bag, she had to pay for a cab, god, it was over 30 blocks, how was traffic at this time of day? After grabbing it off the back of the chair at her desk, she was out the door and hailing a cab.

It took ten blocks for Therese to realize the reason she was so sweltering was the hat and scarf she hadn’t taken off, ten more to get them off with her trembling, sweating hands.

Barely remembering to toss a ten in the driver’s direction at the hospital entrance, she sprinted inside. More frigid air hit her along with the overpowering stench of antiseptic that nearly made her heave. Gathering herself, she rushed to the counter where a nurse peered at her over glasses. “I’m looking for Carol Aird.”

The nurse flipped through a ledger, occasionally glancing up at Therese, obviously eying her sweat stains and red face. Any other time this might make Therese uncomfortable, while now it barely registered. “Room 423, are you family? Miss?”

Therese took off at a run before the woman had finished speaking. Opting for the stairs again (elevators were far too slow), she bounded up the four flights and nearly knocked over an orderly with a tray of syringes counting the room numbers up to 423. The door was open.

“Auntie Therese!” Rindy nearly bowled her over as she walked in the room. “Mommy fell and hit her head, we rode in an ambulance!”

“It’s not as bad as it looks, don’t give me that face.” Carol sat up on the hospital bed. She was pale, nearly green, with a white bandage wrapped around her curls. She sighed as Therese hurried over to wrap her arms around her. “Heat exhaustion which led to fainting, which led to me making a complete spectacle of myself in the middle of the park.”

Therese said nothing, her face buried in the crook of Carol’s shoulder. Carol’s pulse fluttered against her ear, the beating of it pulling her own breath and heartbeat back to a normal pace for the first time that hour. “I’m so happy you’re alright.”

The hitch in Therese’s voice made Carol, face soft and concerned, pull back to press kisses to her cheeks and nose. “These doctors, there was no need for them to call and frighten you like that. I gave everyone a little scare but I’m fine, darling, I promise.”

Therese nodded, sniffling back her tears as she watched Rindy climb onto the bed beside her mother. “They said you have to drink lots of water, right Mommy?”

“You are absolutely right, sweetheart.” Carol pulled her in with one arm. “The nurses just love this one. What did you get, three lollipops already?” Rindy nodded proudly and Therese felt her chest loosen as she laughed.


	8. I Enjoy Seeing Your Face

Therese never painted her nails. Once or twice she’d allowed Carol to indulge her and tickle her mercilessly while painting her toenails, but she assumed putting chemicals on fingers that spent much of their time drenched in photo chemicals would be counterintuitive.

Though she now kept them short, Carol’s fingernails were never unpolished. She painted them herself, a particular shade called “Fire and Ice” of which there were never fewer than five backup bottles in the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink. Therese associated that dark wine color with a million moments and moods: holding a mug of strong coffee, running across dark wood, absentmindedly caressing Therese’s forearm.

Bare fingernails near white knuckles clutch the comforter in a potent mix of desire and frustration. It’s an experiment, suggested in the most casual tone over dinner that evening. “I don’t believe I’ll let you touch me tonight.”

Therese had raised an eyebrow at the comment. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course, darling.” Carol took a sip of her customary martini. “I just think I’d enjoy seeing your face as I touch myself.”

Now, after nearly choking on the spoonful of cream of celery in her mouth, Therese watches. Fire and ice travel across the landscape she knows so well, eyes never leaving Therese’s for an instant. She sits in the armchair she’s moved beside their bed, one foot pressed against the edge of Therese’s thigh, legs parted exquisitely. The fingernails Therese is so used to having pushed between her own legs are pinching their heavenly owners nipples and moving, achingly slowly, to caress her own folds.

There’s likely no blood left near her brain and every thought screams to move forward, to collapse, knees burning against the carpet, and bury her face between those thighs. She’s desperate to do this for Carol, love her as she deserves to be loved, but she sets her jaw, breathes deeply, and doesn’t move. Something about her restraint must please Carol, for she bites her bottom lip, still dark red with lipstick, and pushes a finger inside herself.

Time slows as Carol loves herself leisurely. “Are you going to punish me later? Make me watch you until I squirm?”

Therese shakes her head. “No, I can’t, couldn’t, I - I’ll need to you touch me, I can’t stand it.”

Carol smiles, upping the pace. “And just how would you like me to touch you?”

She clenches her fists. It’s hard, so hard for her to tell Carol, and Carol knows, but she will try her best. “I want you to kiss me, never stop kissing my lips for a single instant. I love kissing you, sometimes just that for hours. Lay me on my back, press your breasts against mine, use your thigh to open mine, use your… your hands on me.”

“More, my love, tell me more.” Carol’s words are little more than groans.

A rush of adrenaline speeds through Therese’s veins. It’s becoming lovely sort of agony, using her wants instead of her body to urge Carol towards ecstasy. The words spill over one another as Therese doesn’t give herself time to think before speaking. “Pinch that bud that makes me moan, rub it between your fingertips. You have the most beautiful fingers, you know that, so long and elegant. I’m always looking at them. We’re in public sometimes and I won’t be able to stop staring at them, imagining them inside me. I’m already so wet, just the way you like. I want to moan into your mouth, making you smile. I love that, when I can feel you smile.”

Carol’s arching off the seat of the chair, eyes dark and mouth open and wanton. Therese nearly whispers, “And I love when you say my name at the final moment. Do that. Please, I love it.” And Carol obliges her, Therese’s name spilling from her mouth wonderfully as Carol squeezes her eyelids tight, throws her head back, and shudders.


	9. Exchanging Numbers

The hour is ten minutes from over when Carol pulls a datebook and pen from her purse. “So, Therese.” She’s said her name more times in the past fifty minutes than Richard has in the past year, Therese can’t help but notice. She makes the syllables sound like fingers running over green velvet. “Do you have a telephone in this apartment of yours?”

“No, I don’t. There’s one in the hallway, but I’ve never found much use for it. Everyone who knows me tends to just knock on my door.”

Carol laughs. The sound is like cold water pouring into a tall glass. “That popular, are we? Well,” she pauses to open the datebook and scribble something onto a page before ripping it out and handing it across the table. “Maybe you’ll have to listen for it ringing a little more closely.” There, in black ink and looping handwriting, are ten digits.

Therese doesn’t realize she’s frozen until Carol pushes the book towards her. “May I have yours as well?”

“Oh, yes! Of course!” Therese writes the number hastily, scrawl legible but inelegant, and hands the book and pen back to Carol.

The day is long and loud after that, but every time the floor quiets she pulls the scrap of paper from her pocket and runs her fingertips over the ink. The numbers are memorized by the end of her shift.


	10. At the Movies

The chill and dim of the cinema was in lovely contrast with the lingering heat of early September. And Saturday afternoons were quiet, the room not filled to brimming like in the evenings. They had their choice of spots as well and always preferred to be in the near the right aisle in the middle section towards the back. It was a perfect view, encompassing the entire screen at an impeccable angle and placing them at a proper spot for the acoustics. The aisle would also provide ample room to leave if the picture was unbearably terrible, and being near the back provided privacy for other things if it was merely mediocre.

Although she wasn’t privy to the decision making of the arts section, Therese would normally peruse the reviews before she and Carol made any decisions. Anything Mr. Bosley Crowther deemed “superficial and glib” must be entertaining (she’d heard tales from those in his department, and the hopelessly old-fashioned grouch seemed to express ideals exactly the opposite of her own), so they found themselves at the newest Alfred Hitchcock this particular afternoon.

Films were a poetry Therese understood much better than words. She was easily captivated, but this film was holding her attention more than usual. Carol could take or leave film as an art form compared to others and normally found herself watching Therese more than the picture itself. She was a fidgeter, and the more spellbound she was, the more she cracked her knuckles and fiddled with Carol’s bracelets on the armrest between them. She’d lean forward during suspenseful moments, show her dimples when there were jokes, frown and tighten her lips when characters behaved badly.

The climax loomed and Carol found herself being swept up in the plot as well. As the villain made his way towards wheelchair-bound Jimmy Stewart’s apartment, she found herself holding her breath and gripping Therese’s fingers tightly. To her embarrassment, a yelp escaped her lips as the hero fell from his window to the sidewalk below.

“You loved it.” Therese grinned at her as they retreated to the lobby with the rest of the filmgoers.

“What I _loved_ were Grace Kelly’s outfits.” Carol averted her eyes as she lit a cigarette. “I’d pay an obscene amount for that black and white number, it was marvelous.”

“And you’d look even more gorgeous in it than her.” Therese laughed and, with a quick look around them, pressed a quick squeeze to Carol’s waist. “And I won’t tell anyone you got scared, I promise.”

Carol rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile as they made their way back into the afternoon sunlight.


	11. Miles Away

It’s unpleasantly quiet in the apartment when business calls Carol to other parts of the country. Frank knows she’s the cleverest employee on his roster and depends on her for the more difficult buys. No one can talk a shrewd, elderly dowager out of her late husband’s antiques quite like their Carol can.

So Therese reads, opting to lay on the right side of the bed for a little variety, and just maybe because it smells like Carol’s shampoo. Her eyes droop. She’d stayed a bit later at work than usual, letting herself get talked into drinks with the boys before heading back home. Home, Therese thinks. That sounds about right.

The phone on the bedside table rings, making her jump. Unsure who’d be calling after ten, she plops the book on the comforter and picks up. “Hello?”

“Can you believe the old bat won’t give up the end tables?”

Therese laughs aloud, a warmth filling her chest that had been absent all day. “But you’re getting the armoire?”

She hears Carol blow smoke far on the other side of the line. “That took a three hour tea to get out of her. I may have to resort to cocktails tomorrow to secure the rest, I do not feel like being in Florida another evening.”

Therese curls onto her side, feeling very much like a schoolgirl on the phone with her crush. “Stop it, you know you’re grateful for one more night without my snoring.”

Carol snorts. “Don’t be daft. It’s humid as all hell down here and besides, I despise staying in hotels without you.”

The warmth in Therese’s chest unfurls like a sun spot. “You know I haven’t stayed in a hotel since last December? I don’t think I’d be able to do it alone now, lying there, imagining you miles away.”

“Agreed, my love. I had to bite the bullet on long distance just to hear your voice and imagine you were in the room with me, likely wearing those pajamas you love so dearly.”

“With nothing underneath, of course.” Therese pauses mid-giggle, aware of the sudden silence on the other end. She’s been too bold, of course she has. What a silly thing to mention, with Carol so exhausted from the day and wanting to get to sleep-

“My mistake, if you were here I’d make certain you were wearing absolutely nothing at all.”

Therese’s breath catches in her throat. “And…” Therese is aware of shuffling on the other end, of Carol making herself more comfortable, and her breath growing heavier. Carol, alone in a hotel room, very possibly shedding her nightgown. “What else would you like to happen?”  
“I’d lay you out on this bed, stretched out, absolutely magnificent. I’d begin at your throat, that long, lovely throat of yours, and leave some marks you’d need to cover in the morning.”

The timbre of Carol’s voice has changed to something infinitely recognizable to Therese. Something heavy and rough and laced with desire. Balancing the telephone on her shoulder, she reaches down and unbuttons the jeans she’d changed into after work, sliding them off. Slipping a hand into black cotton panties, she says, “Tell me more, what’s next?”

“Your arms, stroking my nails along them until I feel goose pimples. Then I’d spend ages on your breasts, teasing and pinching and scraping my teeth along your nipples until you’re writhing.” She pauses briefly. “Darling, are you touching yourself? Please tell me you are, I can’t get that picture out of my head.”

“Of _course_ I am, gorgeous, don’t you dare stop now.” Therese groans, spreading her knees and touching the bottoms of her feet together before sliding two fingers into dripping warmth. “I know you are, too, I can tell. Now keep going, dammit, what else do you want to do to me?”

Carol lets out a low rumble of a laugh. “My exquisite, filthy darling. Now, where to next… your thighs, I’d spread them wide. I love to look at you like that, so open and flushed and ready for me. I’d tease you then, press kisses to your shins and knees before making my way between your thighs.” There’s a groan and Therese can almost see Carol’s head thrown back, throat exposed, back arching. It makes her breath catch and fingers move faster. “Seeing you so wet, so beautiful, just for me… you drive me wild, Therese.”

“You’re killing me,” Therese can only whimper, clutching the headboard with one hand while rubbing herself harder and rougher with the other. “More, tell me more.”

“I’d taste you then. Savor it, kissing it, then finally pressing my tongue against your swollen rosebud again and again. Oh, my _angel_.” Therese closes her eyes tight, the picture in her mind growing more and more vivid as Carol’s breathing quickens. She doesn’t ask for more, now content listening to her lover reach climax as her own pleasure increases second by second until her muscles throb and she’s cursing loud into the silence of the room.

Moments later, she’s uncurled herself and reaching to find the phone that had fallen somewhere in the blankets in her haze. “Carol?” she pants.

“I wondered where you’d gone,” Carol laughs, her breath as coarse as Therese’s own. “Well, I’m exhausted. You think we should get some sleep?”

“Probably.” Therese cups the receiver, her heart still thumping. “Don’t work too hard, alright?”

“You too, because come hell or high water, or those damn tables, I will be in that bed tomorrow night. I love you, darling.”

“I love you, too.” With a smile, she places the phone on the receiver and switches off the light.


	12. Headcanons

Once they’ve lived together for a little while, an unspoken tradition forms. Two to three nights out of the month will be spent curled up in bed with aspirin, hot water bottles, and whatever mystery drama happens to be on the radio that evening. Carol will rub patterns on Therese’s lower back, and for the first time in either’s memory aching abdomens and bloodstained sheets are not hidden out of sight and mind. Any shame felt becomes a distant memory. Comfort and warmth are most tangible on those nights when there’s no boundary between acceptance and the unseemly. They almost begin to look forward to them.

 

* * *

 

The first night Rindy sleeps at the Madison Avenue apartment, she has a nightmare. She’s sleeping in a new bed in a new room and she’s frightened, so she tiptoes, clutching her teddy bear, into Mommy’s bedroom. Daddy would never let her sleep in their bed back in the old house, especially after she turned three, because she was a big girl and should be able to sleep on her own, but this was a new place and Mommy would always bend the rules if Daddy was away on business.

She’s surprised to see Auntie Therese there too, but crawls between the two of them anyway. Maybe Auntie Therese had a nightmare too, and being with Mommy helps her sleep as well as it helps Rindy. Therese wakes when the mattress shifts and through blurry eyes asks the little girl if everything is alright. “My room is dark and teddy had a nightmare,” she whispers, squeezing the bear tight and tightening her legs to her chest. Therese glances at Carol, still sleeping like a brick, and wraps an arm around Rindy. They’re asleep in minutes.

Carol wakes to them curled together like cats, soft and natural. Her moon and her sun, safe and protected and together. Tears spill down her cheeks for minutes before she wakes them both with kisses, reluctant to look away from her small, strange, unconventional, makeshift, absolutely perfect family fully formed for the first time.

 

* * *

 

After particularly long evenings at the paper when Therese gets home near midnight, Carol knows she won’t be able to fall asleep immediately. Her mind is always still whirling with layouts and arguments she needs to make tomorrow about why that photo next to that article will work so much better in Sunday’s paper than Monday’s. So after she washes her face, brushes her teeth, and crawls into bed, Carol will press long kisses to her throat and reach between her legs to massage her gently until her mind clears, fingers tense in Carol’s hair, and all her worries are expelled in a breathy moan. She sleeps deep and dreamlessly after that.

 

* * *

 

Their second Christmas together, Therese gets Rindy to help her make a scrapbook full of Rindy’s drawings of stick figures wearing Therese’s hat and the wrapper from the ice cream Rindy had when they went to Coney Island in August and a photo slyly taken of Carol at sunrise staring out the window with a mug of coffee, just mementos of their first year together while looking forward to the ones to come.

 

* * *

 

Therese always hesitates. Even if it’s just for a millisecond between opening one button on Carol’s blouse then another, she pauses. She will not continue if she cannot feel the want in carol’s breath against her mouth. She knows the obligations of a wife and what that entailed for ten years of Carol’s life in the dark. She knows what it’s like to have a partner who takes and takes and never gives or even asks. Whether with words or without, Therese will always, _always_  ask.

 

* * *

 

 


	13. Flat Surfaces

_the first surface is not actually a surface:_

The first time on the the first night they don’t make it to the bedroom. The front door barely closes before Carol finds herself pushed against it, Therese’s fingers in her hair and teeth knocking against her own. Grievances and serious discussions of the future and heartbreak and confessions of inky winter nights spent with soaked pillows and Billie Holiday will come to light with the morning, that is the tacit understanding. Tonight is an explosion. Tonight is making up for lost months, for every minute they did not spend in each other’s arms. A hand reaches beneath her skirt and cups her heat. She’s already desperate, already mewling, “I need you, I need you” against her angel’s mouth. No time is wasted, no clothing shed. Therese’s fingers push the lace (so hopeful, so damn hopeful) aside and are inside. The fullness and heat are coal, not flame, burning deep into her bones and the storm she’s weathered over the past months has only strengthened it, not blown it out. Only moments pass before lightning flashes and she crumples, mouth and nose pressed against the perfume of Therese’s throat. She clings to her then, rides the last of the pulses coursing through her muscles with tears staining the collar of Therese’s lovely new coat, and vows to never let go again.

 

* * *

 

_the kitchen counter:_

Warm skin hits cold marble and Carol swallows her lover’s shriek. Therese is bare from the waist down, shirt unbuttoned and hair a mess. The sight is obscene and so is she. Carol did not question the mood when Therese had growled and bitten her way to being planted, bare-assed, on the grey, pristine counter. Carol rubs hard and uses her teeth on all patches of skin they can reach, and is wide-eyed when tentative Therese, still hesitant after a few weeks, still remembering when it hurt, when it was the only option, hisses, “Inside me, _now_.” She’s velvet dripping hot wax, scorching like the stove, muscles gripping and pulling. When the time comes Carol will soothe, but now the the voice in her ear is moaning “ _harder_ ” and her beloved requires all her strength. Somewhere in the universe outside of them a dish falls from the cupboard, shattering on the floor. Notice will be paid later, excuses fabricated for curious neighbors. Now is too important for distractions. Now is Therese voicing wants she never has before. These wants will cause bruises from bites and burns against the back of her thighs and delicious soreness in the morning to come, but the trust growing to entwine them knows it’s all still love making. There’s safety in the ache in Carol’s forearm as she quickens her pace, in the increasingly erratic thrusts of Therese’s hips. It’s the comfort that no want will be deemed shameful, no secret left unspoken. The last of the wall between them has crumbled.

 

* * *

 

_the dining room table:_

In summer they open the windows at mealtimes. Raspberries and blackberries for breakfast, strawberries and walnuts in salad for dinner, Therese on her back for dessert. Voices already mingle with the hot city air down on the sidewalk below, and one more gasping obscenities won’t make a difference. On some nights candles in crystal tapers grace the table with dinner (a wedding present, Carol will remember with a laugh and roll of her eyes) and are left flickering, casting amber shadows on the curves of Therese’s breasts, hips, cheekbones. Carol will sit, proper, at the head of the table and move Therese to the spot most comfortable for them both, and feast. She’s sweeter than all the summer fruits from all the markets springing up on Sundays combined. She’s some sort of spirit, tasting of earth and sweat and something so delicate and unique that it has created its own emotion within Carol, one of indescribable heat and warmth and affection. She’ll worship Therese with her mouth, kissing and suckling and licking and memorizing. She learns every millimeter, every fold and nerve. Her hands will roam, always finding new spots to tease. Pinching the puckered tips of her nipples, ghosting over the fine hairs on her arms, even reaching down to spread her lips and massage as she dines. Only gourmet on this table, only the finest, most delicious banquets. As Therese shudders or wails or arches her way to climax, Carol can’t help but muse on how good the season has been to her diet.

 

* * *

 

_the bathtub:_

Tension creeps much easier into Therese’s neck and shoulders as the nights grow longer and colder, bolstered by her growing workload. She’s coming up at the Times and as exhilarating as that can be, hours hunched over photos and trudging back home when the sun’s already long gone takes it toll. On particularly exasperating days when she calls near six and grumbles that she’ll be a little while more, don’t wait to eat, Carol runs a bath. When Therese eventually arrives home and hears the radio tuned low to a station playing jazz, she’ll peel off her clothing on the way to the bathroom, no thoughts for propriety, and climb into the tub without a word. The spacious bathtub fits them both easily, and small, skinny Therese sinks into Carol’s waiting arms without any fumbling. The bath becomes a cocoon, holding them both safe as Carol molds Therese’s muscles like clay. Her hard shoulders soften and limbs and jaw loosen. She takes breaths deeper than she has all day. Her eyes will droop as Carol lays her against her breasts and slides a hand across her front. The sensations become Therese’s world: the scent of lavender oil, the swirling patterns inside her eyelids, the melody of soft kisses against the edge of her jaw, the slip of Carol’s elegant fingers down to the dark curls between her legs. With no hurry whatsoever, Carol makes love to her until the anxieties of the day are expelled from her system in a long, low moan.

 

* * *

 

_the recliner:_

Since the cold, lonely nights of her girlhood, Therese dreamed of having a fireplace. There was nothing in the world cozier than cuddling up on a snowy winter night with a cup of tea, a mystery novel, a hand-woven blanket, and a crackling fire. At least, in her imagination. Fantasies are close but not quite, she realizes. The fire was correct, as was the hand-woven quilt draped around her hips. But in place of tea there are glasses of fine Canadian rye and she abandoned her book on the recliner armrest long ago. Never in her deepest, most intimate daydreams did she imagine finding herself thoroughly naked in the embrace of a tall, comely blonde making love for the better part of an hour in front of _their_ fireplace. And that she’d be happy. Not all right, not fine, not a false smile so no one will worry. Truly, unquestionably happy. They’re deep in the throes of a lovemaking where orgasms are pleasant but secondary. She’s perched atop Carol’s lap, thighs on either side of Carol’s own, and she’s warm. The fire spills heat in tendrils onto Therese’s bare back, yet Carol is warmer. Being with Carol is the warmth of sun-bleached stone in the desert; of distant stars, ever burning. It’s rare that the world quiets for long enough that they can both revel in it. Therese takes these moments to luxuriate in the comfort of Carol’s arms, where she is secure and ultimately herself. She whispers love songs into Carol’s ear, traces the lines of her collarbone, nuzzles against her nose. Anything, anything she can do to let Carol know how deep down in her marrow content she is, how far away she is from that lonely little girl in a metal twin bed who dreamt of fireplaces. Their lips grew chapped long ago and Therese’s feet have long since fallen asleep, but until the fire burns to nothing and one of them begins to doze, she’s not moving. Winds may howl, the snow outside may pile, the voices of those who wish them harm may ring boorishly, but this is sanctuary.

 

* * *

 

_the elevator:_

Deserted lobbies at two in the morning on Saturday nights will make a girl reckless. Her cheeks are numb, a sure sign she should’ve cut herself off earlier than she did, but no regrets. She likes how blurry the rest of their lobby has become compared to the fixed point of Carol’s lipstick. Those lips are stretched into a grin, and have laughed and laughed the evening through. Drinking and dancing down in the village where no one recognized them or cared was a smashing idea, but Therese’s fingers twitch. Coy Carol, always pressing a hand against the small of her back and allowing her dress to slip oh so slightly to show collarbone throughout the night. Therese soaked through her panties hours ago. The elevator clunks to the floor, steel doors opening and closing behind them and those twitching fingers are grabbing Carol’s shoulders and shoving her flush against the wall. It’s so late, the building is asleep, no one has fun like them and, god, no one will. Therese is fuzzy as she counts the dings, determined not to lose her place.

Floor one: her new heels put her teeth right at Carol’s throat. She bites. Carol squeals.

Floor two: earlier in the week she splurged on a black lace bodice as a surprise to wear beneath her dress tonight. It sees the open air.

Floor three: she’s left handed and those practiced digits finds their way between gartered silk stockings and press in and up.

Floor four: scarlet nails claw at her shoulder blades. She hopes they leave scratches.

Floor five: right hand holding her keys and left fingers now in her mouth, she hops out of the elevator and down the hall. Carol has no trouble keeping up.

 


	14. Showering Attention

It began as a nagging itch on the back of her neck. She reaches to scratch it, cracking the joints in the process. Her shoulders are tense, far more than usual for this type of function. Ten years were spent entertaining upper crust, her mask for them has been perfected dozens of times over. The scene at the opening of a Greenwich Village art gallery, however, is brand new. It’s not particularly trying to make conversation with this crowd, but she’s found herself reaching for her cigarette case a bit more often than she normally would.

 

She wants desperately to learn their vernacular, to impress and drop hints at the fabulous up and coming photographer Therese Belivet, have you heard of her? Oh yes, working at the Times currently, but far above the level of talent required for a junior photog. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she has an opening like this in the next few years, not at all. Where is she? Behind us near the bar, laughing next to that lanky brunette with the awful wig and the turtleneck. 

 

Ah, that was the itch. Therese’s short hair is thrown back in raucous laughter Carol can’t hear across the dynne of conversation and the acoustic guitar player in the corner. She’s a natural. She fits here, with the beatniks and bohemians and Carol can’t stop the knot that forms in her stomach. She’s suddenly very aware of the blisters forming on her heels from the new shoes. She feels stiff and too tall. The conversation she was part of has moved on without her and she finds her feet moving of their own volition towards the motley collection of half empty bottles deemed the bar. 

 

The glasses are plastic but the whiskey is strong. She pours a cup and sips it, not going so far as to down it as she desperately wants to. Everything itches now, from her stockings to her makeup. 

 

A hand is in hers and she is being pulled from this oasis. That terrible wig is in her view now and is speaking brightly, “Midge, this is my Carol. Carol, Midge.” The hard knot in Carol’s stomach loosens.  _ Her _ Carol. With their fingers locked and the beaming look on Therese’s features, there’s no mistaking their relationship. “Midge works with wood in her sculptures and since you’re such a brilliant expert on all things furniture, I thought you two might have some things to talk about.”

 

There’s a flash of disappointment in this Midge’s brown eyes and Carol can’t help the tremble at the edge of her lips as she attempts not to smile. Taking her hand from Therese’s and placing her arm instead around her small waist, the night goes by quickly after that. After midnight when they step onto the sidewalk, Carol pulls Therese into a nearby alleyway next to the building and plants a long, lingering kiss on her lips.

 

Therese is breathless as she pulls away. “What was that for?”

 

“Because you’re perfect,” Carol nuzzles into her ear, placing both hands on the small of her back and pulling their bodies even closer. “And sometimes it’s a little frightening seeing others notice it as well.”

 

Therese looks up at her, concern filling her sparkling hazel eyes. She places her hands on Carol’s cheeks and says, voice low and serious, “You know it’s only you, don’t you? That it’ll only ever be you?”

 

“Oh, my darling, how did I ever get so lucky?” Carol whispers, failing to hide the lump forming in her throat. She closes her eyes and feels soft, gentle lips brush against her cheeks and eyelids. 

  
“Come on,” Therese murmurs. “Let’s go home, where I can show you in exact detail just how much I love you.”


	15. True Love's Kiss

The lobby is cool and comforting after the long but wonderful afternoon in the sun. She’s dozing against her mother’s shoulder, slightly sunburnt and clutching a stuffed penguin tightly in her fist, dreaming of the real ones she’d spent the day watching slip and slide around in their pool. It was only after security had politely told her mother and Therese that the zoo was closing that Rindy had allowed herself to be dragged from the enclosure and realized the sun was on its way down across the horizon. A belly full of hot dogs and face covered in the remnants of a chocolate ice cream cone later, they were on their way home.

The yellow of the hallway light disappears and darkness takes its place in the swirls behind Rindy’s eyelids as they enter the apartment. Thank goodness she didn’t have to go all the way back to New Jersey anymore after her days with Mommy and Therese. 

Against all odds, it was Florence who changed her father’s mind. Not on purpose, of course, when she told Harge about the phone bill. Long distance to Manhattan, always in the middle of the night, and always outgoing. Rindy confessed easily when she was confronted, unable to hide her tears and sobbed that she couldn’t sleep without Mommy, that she missed her so much sometimes it gave her nightmares and stomachaches. She would stop calling, she promised, she knew it cost money, Mommy told her that, but please don’t take away her visits. Take away her dolls, her train set, her trips to the stables, but not that. But Daddy didn’t yell, and the next day he sat her down and told her not to make any more phone calls like that, but she could sleep at Mommy’s apartment one whole weekend a month.

“I think we can forgo teeth brushing and all that for tonight, I can’t bear to wake her up.” Her mother’s voice is music as she whispers and Rindy opens her eyes only a smidge. 

“You’d think she was running around with the animals instead of just watching them.” Therese chuckles, closes the front door, and leans in to press a kiss to Carol’s lips. “You put her to bed and I’ll run a cool bath, how does that sound?”

“Absolutely delightful. Won’t be long, dearest.” They make their way towards what has become her bedroom. 

The bed is made up in mint green sheets (Rindy’s absolute favorite) and she curls her face into the pillow as she feels her shoes being taken off her feet. “Mommy?”

“I’m sorry, sweetpea, I didn’t mean to wake you up. Do you want to clean up and put on your PJs?”

“Mommy, why did Aunt Therese kiss you?”

Carol stops, Rindy’s shoe only halfway off her foot. “I guess I didn’t wake you up, did I?” she says with a worry behind her eyes Rindy can’t fathom. “All right, well, why does the prince kiss the princess in your storybooks?”

Rindy ponders. “Because… it’s true love’s kiss. It makes everything better, it makes all the bad things go away.”

The anxiety lessens and Carol squeezes Rindy’s toes. “That’s right. When two grown ups love each other very, very much, kissing is a way they can show it. Does that make sense?”

Rindy nods slowly, solemnly. “Is that why you have the same room, too, because you love each other?”

“Yes, sweetpea, exactly.” 

“Okay. I like that. I love Aunt Therese, too, she’s nice.”

Carol smiles brightly, pressing butterfly kisses against Rindy’s cheeks until she’s giggling uncontrollably. “And we both love you too, so sooooo much. Now put on those PJs and get to bed, my little penguin.”


	16. Simultaneous

This is their bed. These are their sheets. The concept of “their” took getting used to but is welcome and comforting. And Therese knows things now. She knows that her teeth pressed firmly into the feathery skin connecting Carol’s shoulder and neck will cause a cry that will confirm the thickness of their walls, since there have been no complaints as far as Therese is aware. She pauses in pulling off Carol’s plaid, terrycloth robe to gaze down. They’re on their knees facing one another in bed and this angle suits her well. She can reach everywhere here. Palms on breasts, stomach, thighs, buttocks. Every freckle, every pore, every miniscule half inch of skin can be explored. 

 

And above all else, they can kiss like this. Carol tastes of morning coffee and whatever unnamable piece of her genetics makes her who she is. Sensitive skin grows more so with every suckle, every nibble.Therese sucks gently on Carol’s supple bottom lip, hands roaming, taking time to reach their inevitable destination. Yes, this is a good position. She will insist on it more often.

 

Carol’s refined, scarlet-painted fingers drag calm caresses along the insides of her thighs, bringing waiting nerves to life with every brush. The sisters reluctantly taught her the most basic facts of life in her early adolescence, but never mentioned how  _ wet _ someone can become, and how it is, in fact, perfectly normal. Her initial embarrassment was assuaged when, their first time on Madison Avenue, Carol had whispered in joyous disbelief that she was  _ this  _ wet for her, that she was  _ dripping  _ for her, that she could actually  _ see _ how much Therese ached for her. Since that moment, it had become a point of pride, all shyness long gone.

 

As Carol’s fingers find her outer lips and push them together, her clit beginning to ache from the soft friction, Therese digs her short nails into the soft flesh of Carol’s behind and groans. Spreading her legs wide until her thighs burn with the effort, she moves a hand to Carol’s blonde, hispid curls and finds them pleasingly damp. She surprises herself sometimes with how desperately she loves touching Carol. When she fantasizes, eyes glazing over in public places, it’s not Carol touching her she dreams of, but vice versa. And the more she learns of Carol’s needs and fears and fantasies, the more potent her desire becomes. Whoever said that familiarity breeds contempt must never have truly loved, she can’t help but muse.

 

Resting her cheek against Carol’s shoulder, Therese closes her eyes and inhales the fragments of Carol’s perfume that haven’t yet been kissed away. Her hips move in small circles against Carol’s fingers, now rubbing along the length of her to bring the moisture from her entrance to alleviate the rough friction against her clit. She finds her hands moving accordingly, teasing for only a moment then slipping a finger inside Carol. The hitch in Carol’s breathing makes her grin and she sucks a bruise against her throat as she develops a steady rhythm. 

 

“Oh,” Carol whispers after a few moments, after Therese has added a second finger, her brain fogging at the pleasure of Carol twisting and rubbing her clit between two fingertips.  “Faster, darling, faster.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes, yes, please. Like that, oh god, just like that…” Carol’s breath is hard and humid against her ear, sending jolts of lightning down her spine and making her already weak knees nearly give out beneath her. Carol loves slow, she loves steady and precise, but Therese is not one to deny a request like this.

 

She gasps as Carol thrusts a long, elegant finger inside her. It feels lovely, so lovely, but it takes her longer to climax that way, Carol knows that. It’s almost as if… oh, Carol is smart. Therese orgasms quickly. Sometimes a single broad flick of Carol’s tongue after prolonged teasing is enough to send her over the edge. Carol takes longer, building to her climax slowly and unwaveringly. This is their rhythm, another tender piece of information Therese has filed within her heart with all the other exquisite bits of trivia she’s learned about her partner. But sometimes to achieve a desired result, small changes need to be made.

 

So Therese bites her lip hard and concentrates on making the pleasure blooming in her navel blurry as she loves Carol harder. Sweat pools in the back insides of her knees and Carol’s grip on her hair is rough and it’s perfect, this is perfect, being  _ inside _ Carol is perfect and more intimate than anything she ever dreamed and she can’t ignore the thrill much longer, she can’t.

 

“Carol, I’m close, I’m so close.” Her voice is a cracked whimper and Carol pulls her back by the hair and kisses her fiercely, searingly.

 

“Harder then, darling. Come with me, I want you to come with me.” Her forearm burns but she obliges and it’s not long at all before Therese feels Carol twitch and throb around her fingers. She finally, finally lets the pleasure take her over and it rips through her entire body as she clings to Carol like she’ll disintegrate without her.

 

Therese collapses, her muscles still sending rippling spasms up her insides. “I loved that,” she sighs, opening one eye to watch Carol crawl up the bed towards her and cuddle in next to her. “I loved being in that moment with you.”

 

Carol hums in agreement, flopping an arm across Therese’s middle and nuzzling her throat. “I do have good ideas, don’t I?” 

  
“Sometimes. Only sometimes.” Carol nips her playfully as Therese giggles. Reaching down to pull the comforter over their rapidly cooling bodies, she curls into Carol’s waiting arms and drifts off peacefully.


	17. By the Fire

The blizzard brings down a few wires and the block is left in the dark for the evening. A fire is lit and all the blankets are brought from the bedroom to the carpet before it. Carol spends a few minutes fretting over the ice box and its contents thawing prematurely, but after a helpful suggestion from Therese to just place everything on the balcony with the snow overnight, a bottle of red is opened and they hunker down like pioneers.

They’ve fallen asleep tangled together when a particularly violent gust of wind jolts Carol awake. She’s flustered at first, unsure where exactly she is, but as her gaze turns toward the still crackling fire, warmth floods her bones and she settles back down against Therese’s chest. She can hear, almost feel, the beat of Therese’s heart. Closing her eyes, she breathes to the rhythm that pumps up through Therese’s ribs and muscles.

Carol is a terrible sleeper. She often overheats, finding herself wrapped in both too many blankets and around Therese, sweating madly into the sheets. And then there are the nightmares. They’re not frequent anymore, thank goodness, but once every few months she does still wake gasping. There’s variations on the theme, but she’s always a magician’s assistant on stage at a cocktail party. The crowd is packed in tightly, filled with faces she knows but who do not seem to recognize her. The magician, dressed like a Yale-educated psychologist, announces his plans to saw her in half. She always wakes before the blade hits her, but the overall mood of dread lingers.

In the anxiety of those nights, she knows what will soothe her. She presses her ear against the pillow of Therese’s breasts and listens. Her heartbeat is steadfast, unchanging. This quiet piece of music keeps the one she loves breathing. It brings her comfort and confidence to be awake late at night and listen to it beat for her, as she knows it does. Its tireless work will never be taken for granted.

Therese shifts and hums beneath her, waking slightly and lacing her arms around Carol’s shoulders. “Go back to sleep, honey,” she mumbles, words running together. “The food on the balcony is safe, don’t worry.”

A smile crosses Carol’s lips and she nuzzles the freckles on Therese’s sternum, eliciting a contented sigh. “Love you, darling.”

“Mm hm, you too.” Therese’s breath begins to even and soften, and Carol follows her to sleep.


End file.
